


it’s in the being.

by cascountsdeansfreckles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, OW!, Sam Winchester Knows, because i fucking said so, cas tells sam, he/they cas, pre 15x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27457351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cascountsdeansfreckles/pseuds/cascountsdeansfreckles
Summary: “I love him.”He isn’t sure what he expects. For Sam to tell him to get out, or to laugh at him, or to ask if this is some joke. At the very least, he expects Sam to look surprised. Instead, he takes another measured drink and nods.“I know.”
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 155





	it’s in the being.

Cas watches Dean trudge by them without sparing either of them a glance, and sighs as the sound of his bedroom door slamming is audible from the kitchen.

“He’s not actually mad at you,” Sam tells them quietly. “He was just scared. You can’t go radio silent like that on a hunt, Cas.”

“It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

Cas takes a sip of the beer that they can’t even taste. It would take far more of it to actually give them any sort of buzz, anyways. They only drink them to feel less out of place in the bunker. To seem, from the outside at least, like they fit in there.

“I know that. He knows it too. He’ll come around,” Sam assures him. Cas nods, because he knows it’s true. Dean always comes around.

“I just wish—” he breaks off, looking up in surprise as Dean walks in.

They sit up, setting their beer down and tracking his movement toward the fridge. He feels how he feels every time Dean pops up on him without warning, like he’s lost his breath. But he’s an angel, he’s been alive for a millennia and he doesn’t need to breathe. Dean grabs a beer and the box of leftover pizza before disappearing again. Cas deflates.

“I wish I could stop disappointing him,” they finish.

“Cas,” Sam says as though Cas is some great tragedy. “You don’t disappoint him.”

“I do. I disappointed him when I worked with Crowley, and when I broke the wall in your head, and when Jack—when Mary died.” Castiel’s throat is thick. “And a million little times in between.”

“I’ve disappointed him too. So does Jack, so did mom. Just like he has disappointed you, and me, and Jack, and mom.”

“But it’s different,” Cas says, growing agitated. Sam leans forward across the table, brow furrowed, clearly just as frustrated as Cas.

“How?”

The thing is, it’s different in two very big ways, neither of which Cas wants to explain to Sam Winchester right now. Or ever. 

One, Cas doesn’t belong here. The rest of them, even Jack, are a family. Cas has always been an extra, a necessity to defeat the big bads. They know this, and they accepted it a long time ago. If it means that he gets to stay close to them, he doesn’t care.

Two, the idea of Dean being disappointed in him for so much as forgetting to load the dishwasher makes Cas sick. Because disappointing Dean is different from disappointing Sam. He didn’t give a shit what Mary thought of him, and Jack forgives easily. But Dean, he’s different.

“It just is,” Cas says finally.

“No, it isn’t—”

“I love him.”

He isn’t sure what he expects. For Sam to tell him to get out, or to laugh at him, or to ask if this is some joke. At the very least, he expects Sam to look surprised. Instead, he takes another measured drink and nods.

“I know.”

Cas stares at him, something ugly rising in his gut.

“Does he know?” Their voice shakes at the idea.

“No, I don’t think so,” Sam says. His stomach settles slightly.

“You knew and you didn’t tell him?”

“It’s not mine to tell.”

Cas closes his eyes. He feels the minimal grace he has left in him swirling and gathering like a storm cloud, looking for somewhere to go. He pushes it down.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

Sam, who he would die for, who he has died for, touches Castiel’s arm across the table. They open their eyes and they can tell from his face that they’re glowing a brighter blue than usual. He tries again to stamp it down.

“Just for the record,” Sam says, his hand still resting on Castiel’s arm, “I think you’d be surprised by his response, if you ever decide to tell him.”

Cas is seeing Sam in swirling colors. His soul more than his physical form. It makes him dizzy. Too dizzy to realize that Dean is in the kitchen again and saying something.

“...won’t work again. I tried turning it off and back on again. I just want to watch the damn game.” Cas turns his head, and god, his chest restricts. Dean’s soul is so bright, so beautiful and just the way Cas rebuilt it, over a decade ago. His grace fizzles out and he’s looking at just Dean again. Just as beautiful, but different.

“I’ll take a look at it,” Sam mutters, pushing his chair back. Dean stares at Cas, expression unreadable.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice hard. Cas stares at him. “Your grace was…” he breaks off, waving a hesitant hand.

“I’m fine,” Cas breathes. Dean nods shortly, and then he’s gone, Sam following him out the door and giving Cas a small smile.

They stay seated at the table, thinking about what Sam said, until the sun goes down and rises again. Until Dean emerges from his room with bedhead and a groggy ‘mornin’ sunshine.’ As though nothing happened. As though they didn’t spend half of the drive home from Omaha shouting at each other and the other half sitting in tense silence.

Cas is okay with that. He’s okay with not knowing what Sam meant that night. As long as Dean lets him sit a little too close on the couch with a tolerant smile, Cas is okay. He doesn’t need to say it out loud, to have what he so desperately wants, if he can just be with Dean.


End file.
